CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They were almost at their destination when Callen heard the noise he'd been half listening out for, but hoped he wouldn't hear until he'd had chance to warn of its potential happening. Looking automatically back over his shoulder he could see nothing, but the distant cracking sound of an explosion had been unmistakable. Callen said a silent prayer for Joelle, who would now be lost forever in the depths of the ocean, and he hoped that no one innocent had been nearby when the ship had blown.

He cast a glance at Nick and Peter, but they showed no signs of hearing the blast, or at least not understanding what they had heard, and Callen didn't see the point in them knowing what had happened right now.

"Nearly there," he said instead. His voice sounded rough, and he cleared his throat, working hard to get a better grip on things. Nick looked relieved. Peter didn't even look up: Callen could see the boy was exhausted.

They had travelled along the beach, which all through the night had been deserted. Over the past hour they'd started to see some early risers – runners getting a workout in before breakfast, and swimmers and surfers catching a couple of waves before work. But this wasn't a populated place like LA, and they'd been able to keep distanced enough from any other beach-goers to not draw attention. Now, they just had the final part of their journey to navigate, and this was the bit Callen had dreaded for the closer they got to the various houses dotted along the coast, the harder it was going to be to appear inconspicuous, looking as they all were. Even though they'd been walking for several hours now, they had been so close to the sea most of the time that their clothes, soaked by their swim, were still damp from the moisture in the air and the occasional sea spray. Nick's suit was rumpled and everything about the man looked out of place. Both father and son were clearly exhausted, and Callen knew he himself hardly looked as though he'd simply been out for a relaxing morning stroll. The only thing he could be thankful for was that the long swim through the waves had washed all his clothes fairly clean; even the dark blood stains on his left trouser leg were fairly indistinguishable as long as no one looked too closely. Unfortunately, he could do nothing to hide the tear Joelle had made in the material, or his limp.

Carefully, Callen took off his coat, indicating to Nick to do the same. Nick looked confused for a moment, but understood when Callen said, "We need to blend in a little better, don't you think?" Nick swung his jacket nonchalantly over one shoulder, instantly looking more at one with his surroundings. Callen did the same, hiding from the others the intense pain he felt as he moved his injured hand up to his shoulder so that he could hook the collar of his coat over his broken fingers. He managed to drape the coat casually but in a way that hid most of his right hand and arm, and he considered it a major win that he did so without passing out.

"Last little bit," he said hoarsely, trying to encourage Peter with a smile. "Just up those steps there." He nodded in the direction of a long flight of wooden steps that led directly from the beach up to a secluded house overlooking the sea.

The steps were broken into several sections by small landings, each giving an increasingly better view of the sea as they climbed higher towards the house. On the second landing was a bench, and Callen collapsed onto it. Getting up the first two sections had dredged the very bottom of his reserves and though he wanted to get Nick and Peter safely inside, they could afford a moment or two here to rest. He leant his head back and shut his eyes, willing his tired and beaten body to recover.

"Are you okay?" he heard Nick ask hesitantly.

Callen wasn't quite sure how to answer: it wasn't in his nature to make a fuss, but his usual 'I'm fine' probably wasn't going to cut it. He opened his eyes to see Nick hovering over him with concern, clearly unsure what to do now. "I just need a moment," he murmured.

"It's been a long walk," Nick agreed, turning to sit at the other end of the bench and opening his arm for Peter to join him. Nick was giving him an excuse and some time, and Callen was grateful for he knew to make it up the next few flights to the house he was going to have to dig deep for some stamina. Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes again and his grasp on consciousness was waning, but after resting for a few minutes he knew they had to carry on. He had to get Nick and Peter somewhere safe, and work out what to do next.

Callen edged forwards slowly. He felt horribly vulnerable to be unarmed when in his present dishevelled state, he could so easily be mistaken for some low-life breaking in to a nice house in a nice area, and the last thing he needed right now was for a well-meaning neighbour to call the cops. Luckily the house, and the rear entrance from the beach-side steps, was pretty secluded. Keeping his back to the fence he crept to where he knew he could pick the lock on the back door without being identified on the surveillance cameras. He worked quickly, and though it took him longer than usual using just his left hand, in short order the door opened easily when he gently pushed it.

Beckoning to the father and son behind him, he invited them in, putting his finger to his lips to warn them to stay quiet.

"Stay here," he whispered once they were inside the door of a sunny kitchen with a huge expanse of window overlooking the sea. It was just possible to see the bottom of the steps they had climbed. "Let me clear the rooms."

Nick and Peter watched as Callen limped quietly through the kitchen and disappeared into the rest of the house. Nick wrapped his arms round Peter and held him tight whilst keeping a watchful eye for Callen to return. It seemed to take a long time and Nick was beginning to wonder indecisively whether he needed to go and find Callen to help him, or take Peter and try to find someplace else to go, when Callen eventually returned.

"All clear," he said in a low voice as he stumbled tiredly back towards them. "Shall I make us some drinks? Tea?"

"Whose is this place?" Nick asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as if breaking into empty houses was an everyday occurrence.

"It belongs to a friend," Callen said. He sensed Neck's doubt. "Honestly…." he added weakly, his voice fading out: he simply hadn't the energy to explain. Nick continued to look concerned, but he relaxed as Callen moved about the kitchen with the ease of one at home; he watched as Callen one-handedly set out items on the worktop, sore and awkward in his movements but clearly aware of where everything was kept.

"Let me do that," Nick interrupted as Callen struggled to hold and fill the kettle with his left hand. Hiding his relief, Callen let the man take over filling the pot and setting it to boil on the stove top. He moved to sit down at the large table in the middle of the kitchen. He couldn't afford to drop his guard yet, but despite the many rests they had taken getting here, he knew he was close to being totally spent. He settled his right hand carefully into his lap and propped his left elbow on the worktop, wearily resting his head into his hand.

Getting here had only been a small part of the battle, and Callen knew there was a lot still to be done. He needed to get hold of a phone – the beach house was frustratingly entirely unconnected to the outside world – and get in touch with Sam and OSP. There was no choice but to bring his team in now, and to hell with Vance's thoughts on the matter. He couldn't do it alone, not now Nick and Peter needed protecting, not now he knew Janvier was involved deeper than they realised. He needed his team to help him put in place a mission to catch Janvier and recover the hard drive with the Incognito software on it – and that was going to be easier said than done for Janvier hadn't given the slightest inkling of an idea what his next move would be after torturing Callen and destroying the ship. Maybe he'd confided in Joelle… but even if he had, that was no use to them now.

Callen had the vague feeling there was a possible play still available to them, but he was too tired to put his finger on it. When he got back to the Mission, they could bounce some ideas around, decide what was best to do next.

Thinking of Ops left him feeling unsettled. The place had been like home to him for a long time: the longest he had felt genuinely settled anywhere. But in recent months it had been a millstone round his neck. It wasn't just his job as Operations Manager. Callen reflected with reluctance one of the biggest reasons he was feeling unsettled was Sam. He couldn't help but feel the growing rift between them was irreparable, and it was pushing him back into his lone wolf ways. If he couldn't have his partnership, his family, in the way he had grown to accept and feel truly part of, he wanted to leave. To move on. That had been how he had operated for all of his life, until Hetty had played her trump card and found him a role with a partner he could trust. And so slowly, without even realising, he had put down roots. But now Hetty was gone, and his partnership with Sam no longer existed, and what was left was a hollow emptiness.

Struggling with his thoughts, Callen was oblivious to the man and child still hovering uneasily nearby and he jolted when the piercing whistle indicating the kettle had boiled broke him out of his reverie. Nick poured the steaming water onto teabags in the mugs Callen had already set out.

"Sugar and biscuits in that cupboard by the door," Callen said without lifting his head.

"I'll get them!" Peter seemed glad of something positive to do at last. His hungry eyes quickly spotted the biscuit tin, and he carried it to the table before passing the sugar to his father. Nick added a generous spoonful to each mug, understanding the need to alleviate the stress and shock they were all feeling. He put Callen's mug in front of him and once again hovered awkwardly over him.

"You, erm, don't we… ah, need to… well… That hand needs looking at," he eventually uttered in a rush.

Callen lifted his head, and looked down to where his injured hand was resting in his lap, out of sight. He had to admit, it didn't look good. Dark bruising was already coming out, and three of his fingers were misshapen and clearly broken. The back of his hand, wrist and forearm were also horribly swollen, and under his sleeve his skin was marred with bruising and welts, some still oozing blood, from the various weapons Janvier had used. Even he had to concede it needed proper medical attention.

He was spared from answering by the sound of footsteps outside, and the scratching noise of a key turning in the lock at the front door. Quickly, Callen ushered Nick and Peter back to the corner of the kitchen where they'd come in. Cursing the possible need to defend them in his current state, Callen limped hurriedly to the large larder cupboard where he armed himself with a small Walther PPK from a safe discreetly hidden in a false wall, and hid behind the door to the hall to await the new arrival.

A/N: I'm sorry for the long delay, and I'm sorry this is kind of another cliff hanger without really answering the one I left you with before! I don't love this chapter, but it was a necessary transitional one really. I needed time to gather my thoughts before bringing in more of a character I don't usually write much of... Back in the summer I was quite pleased with how the next couple of chapters panned out, but now I'm doubting myself again! Hopefully there won't be such a gap again going forward and I can get your thoughts on how I've done with it :)